


How It Should Have Ended

by The_Firebird



Category: Great Gatsby - F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (2013)
Genre: Crying, Daisy and Tom are psychopaths, Daisy can go die in a ditch, Fix-It, Gastby lives, Gatsby is a big ol' softie, Gen, I fully love emotional vulerability, Justice Is Served, Love exists in this if you squint, M/M, She is a garbage human being and doesn't deserve Jay, myrtle lives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 02:10:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17737028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Firebird/pseuds/The_Firebird
Summary: This was literally an assignment that's due this Friday. It's set toward the end of chapter 7 and on. The tags give it away, but basically it's if *SPOILER* Myrtle lived and George never killed Jay. Plus Nick and Gatsby are BFFs and in love so.....PS. I know this isn't the fandom I usually post in but you really gotta give this book/movie a chance because WOW





	How It Should Have Ended

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alstroemerian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alstroemerian/gifts).



I didn’t know what to do, standing there, in the sweaty apartment that Daisy and Gatsby had just left. Tom and Jordan had left, I chose to stay behind for some reason. I just had a feeling something tragic would happen if I went with them. Something unforgivable, something that would change my life in ways much worse than they had changed since I moved out to West Egg.

 

There wasn’t much to do in New York in the summer, especially in this kind of heat. A thermometer outside a storefront read 104℉. The warmest day of the year, my thirtieth birthday, and I was walking alone in grand New York, the only friends I had had left me for some five year’s old dispute that should have just been left where it was. Then again, it was my fault for not remembering, it’s not like I could fault them for not knowing a piece of information that they were never given.

 

In truth, I never really liked my cousin all that much, she was everything my parents had warned me about when I moved out to the city. She was snobbish, judgemental, manipulative and secretive. She was pretty, no doubt about it, and could get any man she darn well pleased, why she ever settled for Tom was beyond me. She had Gatsby wrapped around her delicate little finger, and she knew it. I refuse to believe she never once heard that he had moved across the bay from her, always throwing parties to get her attention, parties that her best friend went to enough to be recognized. 

 

There was something off about the Buchanans. Something weird about their entire dynamic. Tom was a brute, someone who always had to get their way, no matter what. Daisy was a chameleon, blending into whatever she needed to be in order to be seen as sophisticated. I’d bet she’d wear her shoes on her head if that was what it took. 

 

I always,  _ always _ , since the first day Jordan asked me to set up tea as a favor, thought Gatsby could do better than Daisy. She was too….likable. It was as if anyone could meet her and fall in love, without even knowing her name. She had a way with words, a way of knowing what to say and how to say it to get the reaction she wanted. 

 

I hadn’t noticed it at first. My first dinner with the Buchanans, when I learned of Myrtle, I thought Daisy was just someone rich, to whom I was related. Yet, spending more time with her, she kept asking things. Odd things. Things like asking for a kiss, or asking if I’d fallen in love with her. 

 

Things I should never and still haven’t done, mostly because I’m not attracted to her, partially because she’s my cousin. 

 

I walked around New York until it got dark, an ambulance passing me while I was getting into a taxi. Suddenly, I got that same feeling again. The feeling that caused me to stay behind in the apartment instead of leaving with any part of the group. This time, it told me something terrible had happened, something I would never hope to see, something I was lucky to have missed. 

 

The taxi parked at the edge of my yard, I paid the man and he drove off into the night. It was then that I noticed the lights on in my house. I wasn’t surprised in the least. It wasn’t the first time and it wouldn’t be the last. 

 

“How are you doing there, old sport?” Gatsby leant against the wall, trying for all the world to look like the symbol of calm, yet the subtle clues gave away his nerves. 

 

I’d gotten to know Jay Gatsby pretty well in my months living next to him. The dance of his fingers against his thigh, even from inside his pocket, meant that he had news and was afraid to say it. The way he was leaning against the wall, something he never did in normal circumstances, along with the amount of tension in his posture, meant that he was trying to keep himself calm by keeping up appearances. The way his mouth kept opening the tiniest bit and then closing meant he wanted to say something, yet didn’t know how to phrase it. 

 

But his eyes gave away it all. Blue depths as deep as the Pacific Ocean, told his entire life story in one look. The look in his eyes I had only seen once. 

 

You see, there was a moment I glossed over, earlier. Jay told me his entire  _ true _ life story, yes. Yet, something I haven’t yet mentioned was how our conversation lead there. 

 

At first, I started going to Jay’s house every other day for dinner, given that neither of us had company most nights and enjoyed the other’s company enough to go past polite conversation and smalltalk and move into conversations. Conversations friends might have, some about very serious debates and politics and personal stories, others that would leave the both of us rolling on the floor from the strength of our laughter.

 

At some point during one of my visits, I asked him about the picture in his room,  the one of Dan Cody. He had looked between me and it for a good minute or two, before staring at it and taking a deep breath. When he looked back at me, one second before he started pacing, he had the same expression he currently wore. One that was open, honest. Perhaps the most honest I’d ever seen him at that point.

 

It was his eyes, his expression, that made me not question my decision to drop everything I was holding, cross the entryway and hug Jay where he stood. He was stiff for a moment, then seemed to melt as the stress of the day bore down on him. 

 

I walked the both of us to the couch as the day’s events settled in his mind and finally became reality to him. He sobbed openly, knowing he was safe to do so. 

 

Unlike most of the world, who might have family or close friends they felt comfortable crying in front of, Jay never really had that. He had never felt a real connection to his family as James Gatz, and he hadn’t had many friends outside of Dan Cody in his lifetime. Jay once told me that I was the only friend he ever had, the only one who didn’t use him, the only one he’d ever had who he could be vulnerable in front of. 

 

After a life like that, a life of not being comfortable around anybody, of pulling up masks and hiding the truest parts of yourself to live the life you were expected to have...well, I couldn’t -can’t- imagine that. I am glad, however, that here, in my modest cottage, Jay found it in him to drop everything he put on for everyone else. I am glad that I have gotten to see a side to this magnificent and complex man who lives next to me. I am so very glad that he could drop the guise of ‘old sport’, and the other things which spoke a great deal about how much of himself he really showed the world.

 

In that, I had noticed there was a difference between “Jay” and “Gatsby”, and it only took a moment for him to change between the two. Jay was his open self, he only came out in front of those he could really trust, and I believe my name was the only one on that short list. Jay was a sweetheart who was being crushed under Gatsby’s expectations. And on the contrary, Gatsby was the showman, the mystery of the West Egg mansion. He was the man with the connections and the dreams, the ruthless motivation to get what he wants. As soon as I had noticed this difference, started addressing him appropriately.

 

It came to my attention that Jay worked out all of his tears when he was no longer making much noise and starting to pull away. I told him I was making tea, and got up to do so.

 

A lot of the time, Gatsby preferred to compose himself without an audience, even if that audience was just me. For whatever reason, he was okay with breaking down in front of me, but usually didn’t want anyone present to see him pull his walls and masks back up.

 

This time, it seemed he didn’t want to be left alone. 

 

“Can I come with you?” He asked, uncertainty clear in his voice and the curve of his eyebrows. 

 

“Well- Of course... but would you prefer we just stay here?”

 

“N-no. I think I’d like that tea.” Jay stuttered out. 

 

Tea took a few minutes to brew, and in those minutes, I could see the internal struggle Jay was going through. He was more clingy, like what had happened that night had actually scared him, like he was afraid about more that just what he was going to say, but the things that would happen to him from doing so. 

 

I didn’t understand- couldn’t, at that point. I didn’t have all the information, or even most of it, and all I could think was,  _ ‘Does a rejection really warrant this type of reaction?’ _

 

I stood there, thinking through the whole night and what could have caused the complete breakdown of Jay’s walls and confidence. The water boiled and I put together two mugs, then we went back to the couch. It finally hit me as I was taking my first sip.

 

That horrible feeling I got before refusing the ride home, the ambulance, how shaken my friend really was from tonight. None of this was because of the rejection, but because of whatever tragic mishap happened on the way home. Yet, at this point, I still had no idea what it could be. 

 

“Jay?”

 

“Hmm?” He answered, blinking away the daydream he had just been in.

 

“What happened on the way home?”

 

Every muscle in his body froze, except for his hands, which were shaking so bad he had to set down his mug. He stared me in the eye, and whispered like someone could be listening. “She’s a psychopath. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before, but she was smiling, Nick.  _ Smiling _ . I think she might’ve even  _ sped up _ a little. But she was driving, I wasn’t. She said it was to clear her head but Nick she  _ sped up _ and she was  _ smiling _ .” 

 

“Okay, Jay, I need you to take a deep breath. Come on, look at me, look at my eyes. Good. Now do what I do.” I slowly inhaled, and watched as my friend tried to copy me, then exhaled the same speed. Jay wasn’t the best at first, his breathing having gotten rapid enough to be stuttering on the first few inhales. Eventually, though, we were both breathing normally. “Thank you, you did a really good job. Now, start from the beginning. What happened?”

 

He started from the beginning, when Tom told Gatsby and Daisy to take Gatsby’s car. Then explained how Daisy had insisted on driving, then speeding through the entirety of New York. Then he started explaining what had happened in the Valley of Ashes. 

 

“We were going so fast that everything was blurring. The colors and buildings all looked like a single line changing in height. Then everything turned gray and I swear, time slowed down and I stared into the eyes of that billboard. Then I got the feeling I should close my eyes, like something was about to happen, something I shouldn’t watch, but I was too afraid to close my eyes for even a second. We were just about to pass that old garage Tom stopped at earlier. Then it happened.”

 

“What happened, Jay?” I inquired. 

 

“Daisy, for all I loved her-” He cut himself off, and I knew from that phrase alone just how much this was affecting him.  _ Loved _ , past tense. It meant that whatever had happened, caused my friend to let go of everything he had worked for in the past five years. 

 

“Jay, what did she do?”

 

“We were about to pass that garage, and this...this woman I have never seen before...she stepped out into the street, waving her hands like she was trying to wave down a taxi. I looked over at Daisy, and she didn’t even try to move. Granted, there was a car coming the other way and a head-on collision like that-” My hands clenched in my lap as I thought about it, even only for a second. Even though I hadn’t known Jay for all that long, he was still the best friend I’d ever known and I couldn’t -can’t- imagine what my life would be like without him. “Well, I glanced over at Daisy, only for a second, and time seemed to slow down. She was smiling. A woman had stepped in front of the car and she was  _ smiling _ . I think I even felt the car speed up a little. It was almost like she was  _ trying  _ to hit that woman.

 

“I grabbed the wheel and turned it just enough that- well, I tried- God, I hope she’s okay.” Jay’s head fell into his hands as he seemed to realize the full weight of what happened. He might have just witnessed someone die, murdered in a most violent way. 

 

“But Jay, we don’t know anything about her right now. We don’t know who she was, or what happened to her. But one thing we do know is, you were not the one driving. I’ve seen you, you don’t want to hurt anyone. And I have no doubt in my mind that you would not have been going that fast, that she would not have been hit. This was not your fault, do you hear me?”

 

“Yeah, but-”

 

“No buts. I want to hear you say it. Repeat after me: It was not my fault.”

 

“But it was my car,  _ I _ gave her the keys!”

 

“You gave your keys to a woman you loved, she is the one who hit a lady with it. Is it my fault if I give you a stick and you hit someone?”

 

“Well, no, but-”

 

“Repeat after me: It was not my fault.”

 

Jay took a deep breath. “It was not my fault.”

 

“Good. Again.”

 

He did it again, and once more after that. It seemed like he was finally starting to calm down, realizing what had happened truly wasn’t his fault. 

 

“I want you to stay in my guest room, tonight. Just in case, okay?”

 

It had happened before, where Jay would go home after a visit like this one, feeling emotionally raw and not quite ready to pull up those masks again, and he would end up locking himself in his room and refusing to speak to anyone. The first time had ended with me receiving a call from a worried servant asking what had happened and what he could do. I had gone over as soon as I could, and found my friend laying in bed, completely spaced out and nearly unresponsive.

 

It had taken a while to get him out of that. And ever since, if I thought he wasn’t ready to go home, I’d offer him a room at my house. Otherwise he’d try to be tough, never wanting to impose where he wasn’t welcomed. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The next day I found myself leaving a note behind in the guest room for my friend to find. With the wake of the news the night before, I hadn’t gotten much sleep, and was determined to not let the anxiety stay any longer. 

 

First, I went into the city. I drove to Wilson’s garage to get some real answers and I learned quite a bit while I was there. Myrtle Wilson had been hit by a yellow car last night, and had been rushed to the hospital. George had come back late and told people she had survived, but only barely, then left early in the morning to visit her again. 

 

Next, I found myself in the police station. I told them the entire story, how Daisy had been the one driving, though it was Gatsby’s car. 

 

“And why should I believe you?” The officer said.

 

“Because I am the most honest person I know. And the Buchanan’s are rich, old money; they shouldn’t be able to get away with this. Daisy’s husband was having an affair with the woman- Myrtle. That’s enough of a motive. You are going to think it was Gatsby, but it wasn’t. It was his car, but hasn’t anybody besides yourself driven your car?”

 

The officer thought about it for a moment. “I’ll talk about it with the chief, but there isn’t much evidence at all, and we can’t go by your word alone. You’ve gotta understand that. We’re going to have to go off of what witnesses say and what real evidence we do get, unless you can somehow get either one of them to confess in front of an officer. Understand what I’m saying, boy?”

 

“I do, thank you for your time.”

 

After that, I drove all the way over into East Egg and to my cousin’s house. I didn’t knock on the door, I just sat at the end of their drive, looking into their windows. Tom and Daisy looked more in love than I had ever seen them, dancing around the room.

 

This, more than anything else, sparked my need to investigate them. It took less time than I expected to find the newspapers I needed in the library. It seemed that in Chicago, there had been a string of crime that nobody had been held responsible for, and in France, there had been a number of murders gone unsolved, all while Tom and Daisy had lived in either city. 

 

I didn’t know every place they had lived, but this was enough to tell me they were probably going to either pack up soon enough or let the whole scene blow over. Honestly, I didn’t care which they did, I just wanted them both to stay away from both myself and my friend.

 

After learning the new information, I wrapped it all in an envelope and sent it to the police station, along with a quick letter telling them which case it was related to. By that time, it was already nearly eleven in the morning and I had been out and about for nearly four hours, and decided to head home to check on Gatsby. 

 

He was gone from my house, as I had expected, and the gates to his opened almost automatically as I walked towards them. I didn’t make his butler open the door for me, instead I just let myself in, coming to the conclusion that if he could break into my house whenever he needed, I could walk in to check on him.

 

As anticipated, Gatsby’s servants didn’t stop me from moving through the house, nor did the man himself look all too surprised to see me there. But, then again, he didn’t really seem in a place to pay attention to his surroundings. 

 

What awaited me was a scene I had never thought I would see. My best friend, Mr. Jay Gatsby, formerly James Gatz, sitting at his bar, drunk, whiskey bottle in hand, tumbler long forgotten on the other side of the counter. He was the picture of loss. The loss of a loved one, Daisy. Whom he had held on a pedestal for the past five years of his life, who had become the empress of perfection in his own mind, to have that shattered image, leaving the true psychopath she was in its place.

 

Her true self shining through meant the loss of her façade, which had hit Jay like a gunshot. 

 

I’d never seen Gatsby so inebriated. He rarely drank, unlike most of the world. I suppose it had something to do with Dan Cody and his fall to alcoholism. The mentor who had given Jay the life he had always wanted, or at least gave him the tools needed to make the life for himself. 

 

Yet, there he was, sitting in a barstool, slumped so far forward that I wouldn’t be surprised if the counter was holding more weight than the chair. The bottle of whiskey was constantly being moved. From the counter into the air, the air to his mouth, his mouth to just dangling on the side, back to the counter and over again. 

 

I moved quickly, taking the bottle from his hand and setting it back down on the counter, far enough away from my friend that he couldn’t reach it.

 

“Ohhh….H-hey there, old sport. Finally decided to show up around here, huh?” He slurred. He seemed tired. His eyes were drooping and he had started leaning toward me. I caught him before he could fall off the chair. 

 

“Okay. Jay, why don’t you lay down? You’ve had a lot to drink and I have news to tell you.”

 

“Whatever news you have, you can tell me now. I’m listening.”

 

“No, you’re going to have to wait until you are sober. It’s too important to fall on drunk ears.”

 

“Nicky?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Will you tuck me in? I’m tired.”

 

“I thought you might be. Yeah, come on.”

 

I half-carried him all the way to his bedroom. Jay all but fell onto his matress, and I pulled his shoes and socks off as well as took off his suit jacket and tie. I would’ve made him more comfortable by helping with the trousers, but didn’t want to overstep my boundaries. By the time I pulled the comforter over his shoulder, he was already in a deep sleep.

 

For the last step, I closed the curtains and turned, yet I faltered at the door. I glanced back at Jay, who looked so peaceful laying there that I almost couldn’t stop myself from moving. I crossed the room and bent down, pressing my lips to his hairline. I pulled back in surprise at my actions, yet not regretting a thing. A smile found its way onto my face as I once more crossed the room and left.

 

While he was sleeping, I didn’t want to leave him alone again, so I walked to his library and pulled out one of the books Owl Eyes had been raving about.  _ The Secret Garden _ , it looked okay, and easy to read and follow, as children’s books often were.

 

I worked my way back into Jay’s loft and sat down, opening my book and reading the minutes away.

 

* * *

An hour or two later, Jay stumbled out of his room and met me in the loft. At first, neither of us said anything, he just sat on the couch next to me and leaned, soaking up the physical affection he usually didn’t allow himself. 

 

“I feel like I got hit by a truck.” Gatsby said, then winced as he was reminded of what had happened with his car just recently. 

 

“Yeah? You drank a little over half a bottle of whiskey and then passed out. You’re bound to feel a little hung over. Why’d you do that?”

 

“What, get the whiskey?” I nodded. “Well, you see, old sport, I woke up in your house and you were nowhere in sight. I figured I shouldn’t be in someone else’s house when I had no reason to be and so I came back here.”

 

“Yes, but why did you start drinking?”

 

“Old sport-”

 

“No, stop with the ‘old sport’ nonsense. Nobody else is here, you do not have a reputation to uphold right now. You don’t have to hide behind whatever you were about to tell me instead of just saying how you feel.” Jay sighed and slumped against me. 

 

“You were gone.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“You  _ left _ , I guess.”

 

It took a moment of confusion before I realized. I had left Jay when he was his most vulnerable. He had bared his heart, and then I left. “I’m sorry.”

 

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine for forgetting you have your own life to get to.” 

 

“No, I never want you to think like that. You can always come to me, okay? I just went out to check on some things. And I have news.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Yeah. The woman from last night? Her name is Myrtle Wilson, and she survived. She’s in the hospital right now, she’s hooked up to some morphine and recovering.” 

 

Jay let out a sigh of relief and relaxed further against me. “Can we visit her?”

 

“Yeah, probably later, when you’re feeling a bit better.”

  
  


We ate lunch together and waited for the majority for Jay’s headache to go down. At some point, while Jay was getting ready to visit Myrtle, our conversation switched to the Buchanans.

 

“What are we going to do about that?”

 

“I’ve already spoken to a detective and told them it was your car, but you weren’t the one driving. I also gathered some newspapers telling of curious crimes in the cities they’ve lived when they lived there.”

 

“This isn’t the first time?” 

 

“I’m afraid not. But they’ve always packed up and moved whenever they were close to being caught, and they’ve never had witnesses before. Now they have at least two, three if Jordan will speak against Daisy.”

 

“How do I look?” Jay asked as he walked out from behind his folding screen. He had gone for a simple gray long-sleeved shirt with darker trousers and suspenders; very similar to my own outfit. 

 

My breath caught in my throat as I tried to stutter out an answer. “U-um, good. Yeah, you...you look good.”

 

Jay looked in the mirror after sending me a curious glance, he put something in his hair, smoothing it back and combing it through a bit. When he turned back around, I recognized Gatsby standing proud. 

 

“Ready?”

 

“Yes.”

 

* * *

The visit with Myrtle was uneventful. She was still sleeping, and when George asked them what they were doing there, Gatsby had answered. He told George the truth, that it was his car, yet that it had been Daisy driving. Nevertheless, he told about how terrible he felt and gave Mr. Wilson his business card and told him to call if he needed anything.

 

The rest of the day passed, and nothing much else happened. I watched Gatsby go through the world with the same open fascination as I had always watched him. He was just amazing to watch. Moving through the world like he owned it. It was amazing to see the difference between the man he put on for the world and the man I got to see when we were alone. 

 

* * *

Weeks passed and the police came to both my door and Gatsby’s. They asked to see the car and he let them. I believe they questioned Daisy and Tom aswell, and probably Jordan too, but I had no idea which way their investigation was swaying. 

 

Every once in a while, I still had lunch or dinner with my cousin. I could barely hide my anger as they told the story. The sadness in Daisy’s voice was the same tone she always used when talking about anything sad. It was like she was putting on an act, and I might’ve fallen for it months ago. Something in me had changed, though, and I paid closer attention to her. 

 

She put on the act, yet if she didn’t think I was looking, her face shifted to something almost bored instead of sad. Or maybe not bored, maybe excited, maybe a little bit of both. But she was definitely not sad like she wanted me to think. 

 

One day, I went over, Daisy told me they were moving. I suspected it for a long time. The green light at the end of their dock had long since been turned off, and boxes lines the walls in almost every room. 

 

“All this happening with Jay and Tom and that woman…..I just need to go somewhere people don’t know me. I just need to start over, you know?”

 

She wouldn’t tell me where she was planning on moving, but I could see the hidden message in her words. They were moving because they were close to being found out. Something had happened recently, something that was making them leave as quickly as possible.

 

“Well, do you even know where?”

 

“No, but it won’t be that hard to find somewhere.”

 

“Why don’t you wait a few more days? Come over for tea on Saturday, just one more tea.”

 

“Can’t we do it sooner?”

 

“I’m afraid not, I have to work until Saturday and I’d really like to be able to spend some time with you.”

 

She looked like she was conflicted, like she was trying to decide what would be best for her. “Okay, tea on Saturday. A final farewell. Thank you, Nick. I’ve been dreading leaving this place. I’ll be looking forward to it.” 

 

An hour later, I left her place and went straight to the police station. “I am going to get Daisy Buchanan to confess.”

 

The detective behind the desk looked up, startled and annoyed. “Look, guy, we already have most of the investigation done. The case is nearly closed.”

 

“Right, but you still need a confession, right? I’m going to get Daisy to confess to being the one driving.”

 

“Why are you telling me this?”

 

“Because I need you or another detective to come to my house on Saturday and hear it.” I told him my entire plan for tea with Daisy.

 

“You really believe your little friend, Gatsby, huh?”

 

“I think he is a more honest man than anyone else I have ever met.”

 

“I’ll run it by the chief and if he doesn’t send anyone, I’ll go myself. You better be right about this.”

  
  


I left the station and went back to West Egg, pulling up to Gatsby’s mansion instead of my own house. 

 

“Ah, there you are, old sport. I was just thinking about putting on another party this Saturday. Give the people a few days to get the word out.”

 

“Why would you do that? The parties were just to meet Daisy again, I thought.”

 

As always, his expression darkened at the mention of my cousin. “Well, yes, but I need something to do, old sport. Wolfsheim only meets with me a couple times a week, and… I guess I’m bored.”

 

“Why don’t you start a company, learn to cook, do something constructive with your time?” We both knew he hated those old parties, hated being around drunk people who were too loud and shiny. He probably just didn’t know anything else.

 

“You know, you’re right.”

 

“Anyway, not this Saturday. I have something planned.”

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“Daisy is coming over on Saturday and we are going to get her to confess.”

 

“I think I’m missing something here.”

 

“She’s leaving, and soon. I convinced her to come over one last time for tea, and I’m going to ask her for the truth. You’re going to be in the kitchen or somewhere she can’t see and correct her if she tries to say you drove. I know her, Jay, she’s going to drop the act if we press her. And I’ve already got a detective to come over and he’s going to be there when she admits it. She gets arrested, and we can finally start to put all this behind us.”

 

“You really thought all this out, huh?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Jay looked like he wanted to do something, yet restrained himself. “Thank you. Nobody- ahem- nobody’s ever done something like this for me.”

 

“That’s what friends, real friends, are for.”

 

“Yes, real friends.”

 

* * *

 

Life went well for the next couple of days. I made arrangements for tea, heard back from the station that two officers and a patrol car would be sent on Saturday, and went to work, until Saturday finally came.

 

On Saturday, I was a nervous wreck. I couldn’t help but laugh as I thought about the scene I was in. I was pacing, doubting myself, as Jay tried to calm me down. I kept thinking about all the ways it could go wrong, what if Daisy refused to confess, what if she saw the police and the whole scheme was ruined, what if-

 

“It’s going to be fine. Your plan is going to work.”

 

It was the exact opposite from the first time I invited Daisy over. It was sunny outside, and instead of igniting an old flame, Gatsby and I were trying to get her arrested. 

 

I made the tea and set out the cakes and cookies I had bought before there was a knock at the door. The two officers were behind the two open doors looking over the bay, Gatsby was in the kitchen, everything damning was out of sight. 

 

It was about ten minutes into our meeting before I broached the topic.

 

“What really happened that night?”

 

“Pardon me?”

 

“The night Myrtle was hit. What happened?”

 

“Jay hasn’t told you?”

 

“Well, he’s said some things, but he’s a mostly private person. And I want to hear it from you.”

 

“Well, I wanted to drive to clear my head, but he insisted on it. He was speeding, probably planning on using his connections to get out of it if he got caught. When we passed by that old garage, I tried to warn him that there was a woman in the road, of course I didn’t know her name at the time, but he didn’t slow down or turn the wheel. He just hit her. Oh, and I’m so glad she’s alive.

 

“Come on, Daisy, we both know that’s not what happened.” Gatsby said as he walked out of the kitchen.

 

Daisy tried to keep her innocent expression for a moment, but it fell quickly. “Who cares if it is or isn’t what happened? Who cares about the  _ truth _ ? The truth is whatever I say it is, because everyone will believe me over you.” Her voice had dropped from the usual sweet melody into something vile.

 

“If you believed that, why would you be moving?”

 

“I’m moving because it will never blow over, my neighbors will only see the lady that might have run over that girl.”

 

“Did you?” I asked.

 

“What if I did?” Daisy answered my question with another question.

 

“If you did, then you should be going to jail for a long time.” Gatsby answered.

 

“I did what I did, I do what I do. Nobody is going to stop me or catch me.” Daisy said, her confidence growing.

 

“Are you so sure about that?” Gatsby asked.

 

“Yes, because I’ve already gotten away with it, you see. Tom and I, we’ve done a lot of things, in many different places. Nobody has ever caught us because people like you two aren’t worth enough to be credible. So, if you really want to know, yes, I did hit that girl. And you know what? She should’ve died, too.”

 

That was all the police needed. They came into the room and arrested Daisy. 

  
  


* * *

 

Life flew by, after that. Daisy’s confession led to the police arresting Tom, as well. They pinned every charge they could on them, every place they lived, every crime they committed. They were both going to be in prison for a long time. 

 

I convinced Jay to start investing in entrepreneurs, after that. He started making his money legitimately. His parties never started back up again, yet he found other ways to occupy his time. 

 

We spent a lot of time together, and eventually we both found ourselves with a ring on our finger. Neither of us ever left West Egg, it had been the place where too much had happened in both of our lives. Good and bad. It was where I found the love of my life, it was where I started my own way through the world.

 

West Egg is where I believe my life truly began, and as I’m telling you this, I plan to live here until my life ends. 


End file.
